Crusade
by LysanderTheFistOfDorn
Summary: A group of Loyalist Space Marines on an invaded hive world must fight to save brother marines. Summary sucks. Oneshot


The squad of Salamanders moved through the sewer under Hive Hjalmarch, on the Imperium industrial world Ragnarok. Chaos had invaded this planet in force, a Black Crusade not led by Abbadon, but by one of the traitorous Thousand Sons, Ahriman. In fact, warbands of six of the Traitor Legions were here. The Iron Warriors, Thousand Sons, World Eaters, Word Bearers, Death Guard, and Night Lords. A vast army of slaves and Traitor Guardsmen were there too, all for some unknown purpose. Many Space Marine Chapters were there as well, the Ultramarines, Salamanders, Black Templars, Doom Eagles, Raven Guard, Dark Angels, and Crimson Fists. The Ultramarines and Blood Ravens had just come from a Forge World that had been invaded by Orks, then by a Chapion of Chaos.

"Brother-Sergeant, I hear the sounds of pursuit behind us." The speaker was Brother Dar'Shei, the squads special weapons expert. He held an ancient flamer in his hands, the nozzle shaped to look like a snarling Fire-drake, the deadliest breed of salamander on their homeworld.

"Those blasted Death Guard. These sewers must be like a haven for them. Brother Bak'tet, set up a proximity charge. Hide it if you can." The Brother nodded, setting a small charge under the murky water, set to detonate when the target got within a meter or less. The squad continued down the tunnel, and soon an earthshaking explosion was heard and felt by them.

"Those Traitors felt the wrath of Vulkan." The brothers nodded in consent to the words of the Sergeant. They continued, until they reached the point of their surface re-entry. A squad of the Doom Eagles had been pinned by some Iron Warriors and Night Lords, and the Salamanders had went under them to outflank them. They barely fit through the small opening back to the rugged surface of the street. In the distance they could hear bolter fire and the jeers of the Chaos Marines.

"Brother Sil'nei, move forward, see what you can see. If you see the opportunity to take out a leader or Champion, do it." The Marine nodded, and dissappeared into the dark. Sil'nei was on loan from the 7th Company, and although the Salamanders weren't renowned for their Scouts, Sil'nei was as silent as a shadow, and deadly with a stalker bolter.

0000

Sil'nei moved forward like a ghost, his lightweight Scout armor letting him move quickly, and a lot more quietly than the full power armor of his older Brothers. He climbed up onto the roof of a small shop, overlooking a square. The Doom Eagles had been forced to take shelter in an enforcer precinct, which had been surrounded by the Chaos Marines. A bellowing Champion stood at the head of the Iron Warriors, daring them to take a shot at him. He was tall, even for an Astartes. His iron gray armor had grown spikes, and his helmet had a massive set of antlers growing from it. His left arm had twisted into a huge claw, like some deep sea crustacean. His right arm held a massive power axe, which crackled with red energy. Baleful runes, which hurt to look at, had been branded onto his armor.

Sil'nei peered through the scope of the stalker bolter, trying to line up the perfect shot. The Champion through back his head to laugh or roar; Sil'nei squeezed the trigger, letting the explosive bolt fly. It struck the Champion in the throat, going through the rubber neck piece and detonating in a shower of gore. A hush fell over the Chaos Marines as the Champion fell to the ground. Soon, a roar was built back up as the Traitors tried to find the shooter. Sil'nei, still full of the arrogant pride of youth, was gloating in his head about slaying the Champion. He didn't notice a bright point of light on the opposite roof, or hear the scream of a jump pack above the roaring Marines. He did feel the slight tremble as the Chaos Raptor landed close to him.

The Raptor was wearing midnight plate, the symbol of a fanged skull with daemon wings was visible on it's shoulder. It's helmet was a twisted version of the older 'Corvus' helmet, a bone white skull was painted on it. It held a chain-axe in it's right hand, an ancient, ornate bolt pistol in the other. For some reason, the bolt pistol drew the Scout's gaze. The pistol had gold inlaid designs across the housing, in the shape of Fire-drakes, and a small symbol behind the trigger resolved into the Chapter symbol of the Salamanders. The Raptor began to speak, obviously deranged.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? A little morsel for us, yes? A thin-blood, of a weak Chapter, yes? Shall we kill it?" The Raptor thumbed the activation rune of the axe to life, a throaty rumble filled the air. Sil'nei laid there, unable to move. The Raptor spoke again, but with lucidity this time.

"We have come for you. _Ave Dominus Nox_." The Raptor raised the chain-axe for a brutal chop. Out of the corner of his eye he saw another burst of light that was from a jump pack. But instead of a firey scream, it was loud roar. A silver clad giant landed behind the Raptor, a bolter was aimed at it's head.

"You're already dead." The bolter fired, blowing bits of ceramite and bone out of the Raptor's face. Sil'nei got a better look at his saviour. His armor was silver, save for the blood-red winged skull on his breastplate. An eagle with a human skull was painted onto his left shoulder, show he was a Doom Eagle. Sil'nei stood up, deeply ashamed at his failure to react to his own predicament.

"Thank you, brother. He would have killed me." The black eye-lenses stared at him.

"We're dead already. We've nothing to worry about. I thank you for ending that Champion though. He killed our Sergeant. Are you the only one?"

"No, my sqaud is back that way, awaiting word from me."

"I would hurry if I were you. They are coming." Sil'nei was about to ask what he meant when three more Raptors swooped down. Two wore jump packs, and the other had a set of daemon wings instead. He was helmetless, his face was avian, like a bird of prey. Fangs jutted from his mouth at awkward angles, he wore no gauntlets or boots. His feet had been twisted into talons, and long claws had grown from his fingers. Sil'nei watched as the Doom Eagle charged at the Raptors with his bolter firing and his chainsword screaming. Sil'nei wasted no time, quickly throwing himself over the roof of the building, grabbing the ladder as he fell. He felt his arm wrench out of it's socket, causing him to curse loudly. He slung his stalker bolter over his good arm, and let himself slide down.

He began a quick run back towards where his squad was waiting. As he ran he heard the scream of a jump pack. Looking over his shoulder he saw one of the Night Lord Raptors following him. He ran as fast as he could, knowing he wouldn't be able to hit a target moving that fast. He remembered the vox earpiece he had, he tapped it twice to switch it on.

"Drake, this is Wyrven, come in." The vox crackled for a second, before he heard the reassuring voice of his sergeant.

"Go ahead."

"I'm on my way back, I'm coming in hot. Repeat, coming in hot."

"Understood, Wyrven. We will be waiting, brother. For Vulkan!" The vox went dead, leaving Sil'nei alone with no sound but the jump pack, and his heavy breathing. Soon he got back to the rendevous point, but saw no sign of his brothers. He looked around, watching as the Raptor landed and began to stalk towards him. Another on landed silently, and Sil'nei realized it was the winged one. An evil grinned crossed it's face.

"Well, well little wyrm. Are you lost? Shall we help you? No, we think we'll just butcher you. Leave you to the carrion birds." As the two Traitors neared Sil'nei, he heard the loud voice of the Sergeant.

"Strike from the sky, brothers!" Sil'nei heard a loud roaring sound, and saw a massive drop pod hit the street behind the Night Lords. Instead of the green of the Salamanders, it was instead covered in the heraldry of the Black Templars. A massive Dreadnaught, hung with banners of the black cross on a field of white, stomped down the ramp. More drop pods fell to the street, three in all. Three Templars stormed out of each pod, all aiming weapons at the Night Lords. The one with wings hissed in annoyance and leapt into the sky, only to pepped with fire from the Dreadnaught's assault cannon. The Night Lord fell to the ground, crippled, while the other revved his chainblades. He spoke to the assembled Loyalists.

"Cowards! Who will face me, blade to blade?" A large Black Templar, wearing no helmet, wielding a large power axe, and a shield stepped forward.

"I am Castellan Artur, foul heretic. I will kill you." The Salamanders and Templars watched as the two warriors circled slowly, while the crippled one stirred feebly close by. The Castellan charged the Night Lord, who used his jump pack to leap out of the way. The Castellan swept his axe to the side, catching the chainblade of the Night Lord as he swung it. The Castellan slammed his shield into the helmet of the Night Lord, staggering him. A low sweep of the axe took one of the Night Lords legs off, causing him to fall. While he was on the ground, the Castellan took his axe and cut the Night Lord's sword arm off at the elbow. Another chop took his gunhand off.

The Castellan paid no further attention to the Traitors as he walked towards the Sergeant. The Dreadnaught stomped after him, casually stepping on the armless Night Lord. A crunch of bone and ceramite was all heralded the Night Lord's demise.

"Greetings, Sergeant. I am Castellan Artur, of the Black Templars 4th Company. We've come to aid with the Doom Eagles. This is Brother Sibrand, a veteran of a hundred crusades."

"**Greetings, Salamanders. I am eager to join you in combat."** The Salamanders nodded in consent, while several of the other Black Templars had staked the crippled Night Lord to the ground.

"What are your men doing, Castellan?"

"Do not worry about it, Sergeant. That Traitor is possessed by daemon-kind. We will drive it out, so we can fully destroy this heretic." The Castellan began to chant, as the possessed Traitor began to spasm and convulse. Soon the other Templars joined in, even Brother Sibrand. A thick, oily black smoke began to pour out of the Traitors mouth. The Castellan pointed his finger at it, the chant becoming louder, more fervent. It looked like a fire was burning at the center of the smoke. The smoke then began to envelope itself, like it was devouring itself. It suddenly dissapeared in a flash of fire, leaving a broken shell of a Traitor Astartes. The shattered Night Lord laid where he had been, rocking back and forth as much as his bindings would allow.

"End him." At that command, Brother Sibrand raised his left arm, a power fist with an underslung heavy flamer. A small burst of holy fire enveloped the Night Lord, causing a scream of anguish to tear from the traitor's lips. The Salamanders watched impassively. Pity was not spared for a heretic.

"We should hurry, the Doom Eagles will need our assisstance."

"I agree, Sergeant. Form up your men. Let's kill these heretics. For the Emperor!" The cry was taken up by Templar and Salamander alike, as they all marched towards the square that Sil'nei had recently escaped from. They soon heard the sounds of battle; bolter fire, the whine of jump packs, and various battle cries. Two jump pack equpped Salamanders stood at the ready, as the Sergeant gave them their orders.

"You are going to jump onto the roof and locate the largest cluster of heretics. You will then prime your grenades and throw them, taking out a large body of them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Well, get going." The two battle-brothers exchanged glances, then ignited their packs. Soon, a series of explosions were heard, and the two squads charged. The square was a scene of carnage, littered with the mangled bodies of Loyalist and heretic alike. One Salamander, Brother Bah'tet, fired his melta gun into the massed Iron Warriors, armor and flesh disentegrating at its touch. He roared in triumph, but was cut short as he was cut down by heavy bolter fire. Two Night Lord havocs stood close by, aiming mainly at Brother Sibrand. But the Dreadnaught just shrugged it off, charging at the havocs.

**"For the Emperor! His Realm must be cleansed of the taint of the heretic! For His Will is my torch, and with it I will destroy you all!"** He swung his power fist, pulverizing the havocs. He turned his attention to the Warmaster of the Night Lords.

"Hello, Sibrand. Remember me? I'm the one that put you in that walking casket." The Warmaster stood in Terminator plate, clutching a corrupted thunder hammer in his right hand, while his left mirrored Sibrands; it was a power fist.

**"Warmaster Tiberion. I will send your soul screaming to you false gods! There is only the Emperor, he is our faith and shield!"** Sibrand charged at the Warmaster, who stood calmly. As the Sibrand neared, the Warmaster leapt up, aided by a jump pack that had been jury rigged onto the Terminator armor. The Loyalists were stunned, Terminator armor wasn't supposed to do that. The Warmaster landed un-gracefully on the top of Sibrand, the magnetic locks on his boots kept him from falling. He swung the hammer, causing eldritch power to course over the Dreadnaughts hull. He swung again, ceramite crumpling under the force of the blows.

The Sergeant watched as the Night Lord warmaster hammered at the Dreadnaught, slowly destroying him. The Castellan was down, thrown through the precinct wall by an explosion. The Sergeant looked around for anything he could use, his bolter woundn't do anything to Terminator plate. A fallen Templar, an assault, lay near him. His jump pack was still intact. The Sergeant knelt by the Templar, hitting the quick release button on his chest.

"Your sacrifice was not in vain, brother." He picked up the jump pack, slinging it onto his back. It connected magnetically to his backpack, the straps locking across his torso. It had been a century since his time as an assault marine, but he recalled exactly what _his_ sergeant had instructed. A savage grin crossed his craggy features as he activated the jump pack.

The Warmaster readied another swing, when a green and black torpedo hit him. His boots detatched from the Dreadnaught, allowing both of them to fall to the ground. The Warmaster stood up, looking at his oppenent. The Sergeant had removed his helmet, showing his onyx black skin and glowing red eyes. One of them was natural, the other was a bionic, after he had lost the other to a World Eaters axe. He held an enormous chainsword, the hilt fashioned like a dragon's head. The Warmaster also noted the Black Templar jump pack, and chuckled at how ridiculous he looked.

"Now, Traitor, you will die!" Using a small boost from the jump pack, he charged the Warmaster. The Warmaster swung the hammer, but even for a Terminator it was an unwieldly weapon. The Sergeant managed to dodge it, and swung with the massive chainsword. The sword had been forged in the foundries of Nocturne, one of the Forge masters using an ancient process to harden the teeth of a Firedrake, using those as the blades teeth. High Gothic runes ran up the right side of the chain housing, reading "_In imperatoris nomen."_ The Firedrake teeth bit into the shoulder pauldron of the Warmaster, chewing into it. With a savage wrench, the shoulder piece came off, clattering to the gorund.

The Warmaster roared in rage, swinging his hammer. The hammer connected with the Sergeants jump pack, causing it to ignite. Before it could take off and fly him to the Emperor knows where, the Sergeant hit the release button. The jump pack thumped to the ground, as it began to glow and shake. The Sergeant dived out of the way, as the jump pack exploded, showering the Warmaster in burning promethium. But his Terminator plate protected him, as he marched towards the dazed Sergeant. He raised the hammer, preparing to kill the Salamander.

"In the name of Dorn!" The roar came from the Castellan, who leapt at the Warmaster, swinging his power axe. The axe connected with the Warmaster's right arm, burning into the armor. The Warmaster turned to the Templar, preparing to swing again, but he forgot the Salamander. The massive chainsword howled as it chewed through the weakened armor where the shoulder pad was gone. The Warmaster screamed as the sword chewed through the ancient armor, eating into the flesh beneath. Soon the arm dangled at his side, useless. He tried to swing the hammer one handed, but it was a two handed weapon, unusable with only one. The Castellan chopped into that arm, rendering it useless as well. The massive form of Brother Sibrand stomped towards the fallen Warmaster, the other Templar and the Salamander standing aside.

"You think you have one, Imperial dogs? This but a small portion of our might! I spit on your Corpse-God, you weak blood fools." Sibrand looked down on the Warmaster, aiming his heavy flamer at him.

**"In the Emperor's name, let none survive."** A whoosh of igniting flame sounded, covering the Warmaster. The Warmaster's screams of agony lasted several minutes, as Terminator plate is hard to burn through. Soon, Sibrand turned towards the two commanders, his front plating crumpled and smashed. The Sergeant and the Castellan were little better. Half of the Castellan's face was a bloody ruin, the skin gone to reveal the muscles beneath. The Sergeants face was blistered from the jump pack explosion, his bionic eye dead. His left arm was out of it's socket, when the hammer connected with him and the jump pack.

What was left of the Black Templars and the Salamanders gathered in front of the precinct, as thirteen or fourteen silver clad figures walked out of the building. These were an honor guard, as the rest of the three squads had perished helping their saviors. A tall man, wearing black robes and body armor, carrying a golden power sword stepped out behind the Doom Eagles.

"I am Inquisitor Xerxes Rex, of the Ordo Hereticus. I thank you for your aid against those foul beasts." The Sergeant noticed the Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, taking in the Sergeant's unusual appearance. Any reply was cut off as a loud cry was heard.

**"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULL FOR THE SKULL THRONE! KILL, MAIM, BURN!"** A massive red Dreadnaught charged around the corner, followed by red clad Traitor Marines. But where the World Eaters were loud, roaring cries to their god, those that followed were eerily silent. Clad in light blue and gold they were, their helmets topped with massive crests. They marched in ordered rows, following one dressed like them, but with flowing robes as well. They were the twisted Sons of Magnus, the Thousand Sons. Two Champions, one clad in blood red, wielding two massive chain-axes; the other, clad in blue and gold, wielding a staff crackling with arcane energies. Both pointed at the Loyalist remnants. The warriors charged.

0000

High above, in an Astartes battle barge, the _Vermiculus Pugno_, three squads of Crimson Fists were preparing to drop. One, clad in artificier armor, wielding an ancient plasma pistol in his left hand with a powersword at his hip spoke into his vox mic.

"This is the Master of the Line. Drop us." The seals on the drop pods realeased, the pods plumeting towards the ground. The Master of the Line spoke to the Marines in his pod.

"There is only the Emperor!"

"He is our faith and shield!" The Master of the Line smiled as they picked up speed. This was going to be glorious.


End file.
